


Salt Water Mixed With Air

by ShanaStoryteller



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sensory Overload, Teen Wolf Charity Auction, Werewolf!Stiles, takes place bw se2 and se3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 02:17:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1287505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShanaStoryteller/pseuds/ShanaStoryteller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek’s eyes are red, Peter’s are blue, his are gold, and Isaac is gone.</p><p>He understands, of course he does, Scott's life has been completely turned head over heels, and considering that's kind of mostly Stiles's fault, it's not like he can blame Scott for it. So he needs the summer to get his shit together - Stiles has stuff to do too, that's fine.<br/>This is kind of a total lie, which is probably why when Peter crawls through his window three weeks in, he bursts out with, "Thank fuck, yes, okay, absolutely," instead of, you know, screaming and crying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is for hpficfiend, who won me in the sterek auction. it's late late late because i'm a terrible person and this semester has been completely brutal  
> second bit will be up in a couple of days  
> ps does anyone know what's going on with AO3's formatting cause this was a bitch to get up, and i know the format is horrible but it was a pain in the ass to even get it to look like this and any help would be wonderful

if

the ocean

can calm itself,

so can you.

we

are both

salt water

mixed with

air

\- Nayyirah Waheed

 

He understands, of course he does, Scott's life has been completely turned head over heels, and considering that's kind of mostly Stiles's fault, it's not like he can blame Scott for it. So he needs the summer to get his shit together - Stiles has stuff to do too, that's fine.

This is kind of a total lie, which is probably why when Peter crawls through his window three weeks in, he bursts out with, "Thank _fuck_ , yes, okay, absolutely," instead of, you know, screaming and crying.

Peter blinks, "Well, that was unexpectedly easy."

 

All the bravado Derek usually surrounds himself with is stripped away with the loss of Boyd and Erica, and no way is Stiles saying this out loud ever, because Derek will kill him, but it's maybe a little bit their own fault, because apparently Derek told them not to go, that is was a trap, that it wasn't safe, and they did anyway.

Peter thinks the same, which is actually most of the reason that Stiles doesn't say anything.

Isaac is crazy eyed and desperate with the loss of his pack mates, and mostly makes Stiles's skin crawl in a completely different way than Peter does. Unfortunately, this means that he spends an uncomfortable amount of time with Jackson, when he spends any time with the pack at all, and isn't just doing research in his room.

At first it's Peter who comes and goes, but soon enough it's Jackson because not even he's enough of douche to subject Stiles to that level of crazy all the time. They don't talk about Lydia, not at all, not a single word, and it's a little bit bearable.

Derek comes once, at the very end, during a sizzling week in August where Stiles refuses to leave his wonderful, air conditioned house.

"Hey," he says from sprawled across his bed, "close that will you, you're letting all the cold air out." It's slammed shut with a disturbingly loud bang, and Stiles's head shoots up to see Derek braced across the frame, shoulders heaving. "No luck with the latest lead, huh?" he's soft, if not particularly tactful, and he hears the creak of wood as Derek's grip threatens to break the window.

Derek sighs, and it's like someone popped a balloon and let all the air out. He hasn't done this before, and Stiles is freaking out, kind of wants to run his mouth and bitch Derek out a little about choosing here and now to have a little dramatic breakdown, but -

\- but when it comes to people Derek has to lean on for support, it's Peter and Isaac and fucking Jackson, so okay, he isn't the _best_ person for this, obviously, he's just also obviously the least awful option.

"Hey," he gingerly gets out of bed, and his heart speeds up with anxiety as he drags his feet across the floor, hesitating before he settles his hand against the center of Derek's back, "it'll be fine, you know like making the light bulb. We don't know where they or the alpha pack are, but we know one more place they're not, so eventually we've got to narrow it down to actually finding them, right?"

Derek takes a deep, staggering breath, and Stiles can't see his face, but it sounds like he's crying, oh god, don't let him be crying, Stiles is in no way shape or form prepared to deal with a weepy Derek Hale. Thankfully, he doesn't have to, because after that he slams the window open and jumps out of it, leaving Stiles's hand hovering where it used to be pressed against Derek, and well, that's one way to get out of an awkward situation.

 

The next time he sees Derek he's curled up in Jackson's arms, bleeding too fast and he can't tell if the pounding in his ears is Jackson's heartbeat or his own, and it's all blood and pain, and he shouldn't have gone with them, it was stupid, but he was bored, Scott had bailed on him _again_ , his dad was working late, and he just hadn't wanted to be alone.

"Hey," he's on Derek's couch, and Derek's hand is against his face, "Stiles, it's fine, you're going to be fine."

Stiles wants to press his hands where it hurts, except it all does, so instead he grabs Derek's hand, jerks the older man down to him. "I - I don't - don't -" He's human, and he wants to stay that way, this isn't who he wants to be, god, maybe death is better. Death is easier.

"I'm sorry," there's open sorrow on Derek's face now, and that almost makes it okay, at least this wasn't planned. Derek wouldn't have, he knows that, but he wouldn't put it past Peter for this to have been a plan.

Stiles lets him go and leans back into the couch. His eyes slip shut.

 

He's never been an easy sleeper. It takes him a while to settle down, and then once he does fall asleep, he sleeps heavy. It takes a good thirty minutes of shuffling and blinking before he's good for anything. Mornings are awful, until recently they were his least favorite thing.

Stiles wakes up all at once. He goes from deep slumber to fully aware in the span of a single breath, and he's terrified. Derek's couch has always been Stiles's favorite part of the loft, soft and perfect for bouncing onto, but now it feels like sandpaper against his skin. There's barbeque in the fridge and it's all he can smell, and fuck, someone's walking, they need to stop, it sounds like fucking bombs going off. He curls into himself, and there's nowhere to move, because of the drag of the couch is hell, and the sound is even worse.

"Stiles?" Fuck, Derek, shut up, no need to fucking scream. "What's wrong?" Derek grasps his shoulder and presses his hand to his chest, and oh, oh that's okay now, he can almost breathe again. Derek's hands are warm against his skin, and soft, he's never noticed before. Werewolf healing means no calluses, just baby smooth skin. His heart beat is nice too, solid and steady and it drowns out everything else, all the white noise and terror, and Derek really does have a nice heart. "Stiles!"

He opens his eyes, and Derek is pale - and worried, he can smell it on him, and he hadn't known worry had a smell before. Derek sucks in a harsh breath.

"What?" Stiles asks, pushing himself up, and for a moment he's dangerously close to pushing himself into Derek.

"Your eyes," Derek says, and when Stiles scrunches his nose he pulls his phone from his pocket and holds it up. His eyes shine golden in the reflection, and he digs his fists into the cushions to keep from hurling. Derek's hands curl around his shoulders, and he focuses on that, on skin against skin, and his stomach settles.

"I need to go," he stands abruptly, and has Derek's floor always been this cold, that seems a little unnecessary.

Derek raises his hands in front of him, "Hey, take a deep breath. It's okay, relax."

Stiles snarls, like an actual proper snarl, and his face shifts, bones and muscle moving around to accommodate fangs and his new wolfy features. "Does this look _okay_ to you?"

"Well, you're not dead. Could be worse." Stiles growls, releasing his claws and flashing his eyes at Peter. Should have fucking killed the asshole for a second time when he crawled through his window. Peter dangles a shirt in Stiles's direction. "I was going to offer you this, but you'll just shred it in the state you're in - be a shame to waste it."

Well, if there's ever a time where he can actually kill him, it's now. He's already taken half a step when Derek says, "Stiles - don't - focus, you need to control the shift - I know this is new for you -"

"Don't tell me what to do!" Stiles snarls, marching forward to jab his claws into his chest. Derek winces, but Stiles doesn't break skin so he can suck it up. "This is all your motherfucking fault. My eyes are gold, because of you. I have claws, because of you. I am a fucking _werewolf_ because of you, Derek."

He kind of wants to shred Derek's stupidly glorious abs on principle - it's not like he won't heal - but Derek's looking at him with a little fear, concern that's for him and about him, and he's seen that look before. People used to look at his mom like that, when she would end up places where she didn't belong or start saying things that didn't make sense, and _fuck that_. He closes his eyes, and his first place to find balance is his dad, but there's so much guilt there that it makes him nauseous. So then there's Scott, his best friend, and okay, they've had their rough patches and Stiles is actually still a little pissed that Scott didn't come looking for him when he was being tortured by Gerard, but he's still Scott. Big dopey smiles, near overbearing concern, and ridiculous puppy eyes that recently have become more literal than not. Stiles inhales, and when he exhales he's put the wolf back where it belongs.

"How did you do that?" Peter demands, and Stiles really, really wants to kill him. Maybe he should use that as his anchor instead, his overwhelming desire to kill Peter.

That would probably end pretty poorly, actually. Or well.

Stiles glares, "How do you fucking think?" He thumps Derek in the chest, and he feels a bit bad about what he said, because it's not his fault, really. Or at least it's only a little his fault. Now that the anger is starting to recede the panic is taking hold again. "I have to go. I'm leaving now."

"At least take the shirt," Peter says.

"I'm not going to run around wearing your shirt, like I need your fucking scent clinging to me."

Derek coughs, "It's uh, my shirt. Actually."

Stiles narrows his eyes before shrugging and swiping it from Peter's hands. He tugs it on over his head as he walks out the door. Derek's scent is almost overpowering for a moment, and it's probably totally creepy of him that it's comforting.

Jackson had picked him up last night, so it's not even like he has a car to take. And he's barefoot. He considers going back inside and demanding the keys to the Camaro, but - Well, he's a werewolf now. Might as well start practicing.

He shifts, and wonders how fast he can run like this.

 

Pretty really fast is his approximate estimate. He'd been heading home, but his dad might be there, and he'd rather get mauled and bitten all over again than have that conversation right now. So instead he's staring contemplatively at Scott's window, and if he could do it as a human, how hard can it really be as a werewolf.

Mildly hard, as it turns out. Or at least the way he goes about it is; he's going to need to practice his vertical jumps. But he manages, shoving open Scott's bedroom window and tumbling inside.

"Stiles!?" Scott peers over the edge of his bed, brown eyes wide.

"That's whole back flip finish thing is a lot harder than I give Derek credit for," Stiles says dully from sprawled out on the floor, "Although that also means he's spent time practicing that shit, I don't know if I should be impressed or just make fun of him."

Scott yanks Stiles's arm up, pressing his nose to his wrist, "What the hell?"

"Yeah, I'm definitely making fun of him," Stiles lets his eyes glow gold, and nearly smiles when Scott does the same, probably unconsciously considering the look of horror on his best friend's face right now. "So, there are some things I should probably fill you in on."

 

"I'm going to kill him." They're laying back on his bed, pressed together from elbow to knee.

Stiles sighs, "Don't. It's - not his fault. Really. Mostly it's mine. I'm all up for killing Peter though."

"I can't believe he thought letting you and Jackson go alone to track an alpha pack was a good idea."

"He didn't." Stiles frowns, "Isaac was - FUCK!" He leans over to grab Scott's cell from the side table, "Shit, fucking goddamnit."

"What?" Scott sits up as Stiles paces across his room, "What's happening, what's wrong?"

"They took Isaac," Stiles says, speaking to Scott and Derek both.

Derek sighs down the line, "Yeah, I know. Jackson's trying to track him now, but we're not having much luck. How are you?"

"How am I?" Stiles demands, "I'm fine, new werewolf superhuman healing powers, what the fuck, I'm not the one that's been kidnapped by evil alphas."

"Okay, okay. Just, calm down okay? You're with Scott, right? So just focus on keeping calm, and-"

Stiles snarls and only remembers at the last second to stop himself from snapping the phone in half. "If you don't fucking quit telling me to calm the fuck down, the next time I see you I'm going to calmly tear open your throat."

There's a pause, and Scott says, "You make a violent werewolf."

He rolls his eyes, "Look, I understand your concern, I get it, but I'm handling the shift just fine. Wolf, human, nice easy division. What I don't fucking get is how the fucking smells and sounds don't drive you guys insane."

"What?" Derek and Scott say at the same time, and oh, isn't that adorable.

Stiles drags his hand across his face, and he's starting to shake, shit, how hadn't he noticed that. "I can hear what seems like fucking miles, okay, and Scott's neighbor has eggplant parmesan in the fridge, which actually smells kind of awesome but _that's not the point_." He's hyperventilating by this point, because it hurts, his head is pounding and his nose is burning. He drops the phone and Scott's grips him about the shoulders. Derek's yelling for him, and it makes his head pound. Scott tugs him close and he shoves his face into the crook of his best friend's neck. He tries to focus just on that, tries to drown out everything else except for the smell of Scott, but it's just not working.

There's another crash as someone else tumbles through Scott's window and oh, he knows who it is even before he smells him.Derek tentatively lays his hand along Stiles's back, and he almost goes boneless with relief at it, leans back into the warm touch. He smells Derek and hears Derek's heart beat and it's good, it doesn't drown out everything else, instead it all feels like background noise now, like he can still sense it all but he can ignore it if he has to.

"Oh," Scott says, soft and surprised, and Stiles doesn't get it until he's being turned around and pushed into Derek. He resists for all of two seconds, but then he's curling up into Derek's chest and inhaling his scent and listening to his heartbeat, and Derek's arms are strong and solid. Stiles almost feels like he's a kid again in his dad's arms, like nothing can get him and it's all okay, and, just, fuck. The last thing he needs is to start comparing Derek to his dad, that's not going to help anything.

Stiles sighs against Derek's collarbone and says placidly, "You fucker, this is all your fault."

Derek half shrugs, and when he says "Sorry?" he sounds so helpless Stiles almost laughs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly have no excuse for how long this took, except that I'm a terrible person and I'm sorry.

They all keep _smirking_ about it, except Scott who gets pouty every time Stiles reeks of Derek (which is actually all the time now) and Derek himself who looks faintly terrified every night when he shuffles into Stiles's bedroom.

Stiles is currently burrowing himself in Derek's leather jacket and trying to not look pathetic in it. His dad keeps giving him a really strange look over their tofu burgers so he doesn't think he's succeeding. Not that he's surprised - he keeps on having to push the sleeves up so he doesn't get them covered in ketchup.

"Cold?" his dad asks, eyebrows nearly to his rabidly receding hairline.

Stiles pushes the sleeves up again, "No?"

"Is that Derek Hale's jacket?" his dad continues after a moment, pained.

"No," he says, firmer this time.

"The same Derek Hale who's been sneaking into your room?"

"If you don't make me have this conversation right now, we'll get takeout tomorrow," Stiles says, and he doesn't think it's going to work, is putting it out there as a diversion more than anything else.

He's proven right when his dad puts down his burger and sighs heavily. "Stiles, is this - I hate to ask, because honestly it's not your style, but is this a teenage rebellion thing or something? Is this to get back at me?"

" _What_?" Stiles squawks, "No, why would you even -"

He holds his hands up in surrender, "What else am I supposed to think when you start sleeping with Derek Hale? You could do worse, I admit, but he's a _criminal_."

"He was never convicted," Stiles says defensively, because that was also kind of all his fault. "I'm not sleeping with him!" At his father's disappointed look, he back tracks to, "I'm not having sex with him! He's just - it's, nice, or whatever. Comforting," he settles on lamely, because he is in no way shape or form ready to have the conversation about how he's a werewolf that can only control his senses when he's wrapped around Derek, because that is honestly even worse than if he was sleeping with an adult criminal, in his own mind.

His dad searches his face for a long moment, mouth turned down at the corners. "You know," he sighs, "I can't tell when you're lying to me anymore."

Stiles face burns with shame and he ducks his head. He has a tell, he knows he does - his right index finger twitches when he lies, and he can't make it stop. He wants to offer it as proof of his honesty, as a sign of a trust, but he knows there will be plenty of times in the future he'll need to lie to his father and get away with it. So he looks at his cold tofu burger, and pretends it's the food that's causing his stomach to turn.

 

Because Stiles is kind of an asshole, that night he waits until Derek has already crawled in bed with him and hooked his chin over Stiles's shoulder and molded their bodies together to say, "My dad thinks we're having sex."

He can feel Derek tense up all along him, the scary alpha werewolf falling into fight or flight mode at the thought of Stiles's human father, and it almost causes him to smile. "Did you tell him we weren't?" the older man asks eventually, and Stiles really does smile at how nervous he sounds.

"Yeah, I don't think he believes me though." Derek groans into the back of Stiles's neck, and he has to pretend not to like it. "He said I could do worse, though," he offers.

Derek stills behind him, "Really?"

Stiles pushes back into Derek and sighs at the calm washing through his body at having him so close. "Really."

 

"I will kill you."

Peter flutters his eyelashes, "Oh darling, don't make promises you can't keep."

"I did it once, I'll do it again," Stiles growls. He's purposely not looking to the spot behind him and to the left, because the last time he was here that's where he got attacked by a pack of alpha werewolves and turned into a creature of the night himself. Scott's hands press up against his chest, and that's honestly the only thing keeping him from ripping out Peter's throat. With his teeth.

He's definitely spending too much time with Derek.

"You really are such a violent werewolf," Scott says, but he sounds more amused than scolding, so Stiles shifts his face so his bones crunch and reform more angular, fangs push past his face, and his eyes flash golden. Scott's own eyes gain a golden sheen, and now they're just grinning at each other in the middle of the Hale preserve.

"Actually," Derek says, walking into the clearing and casually standing in Stiles's bubble of personal space, "he was always pretty violent. It's just that now he has the claws and the teeth to back it up."

Stiles extends his claws, feeling vaguely like Wolverine if he wasn't a fun sucker, and scratches the air like a cat. "Grrr."

Scott snorts and Peter groans. "If you're all quite done, can we get on with this? The trail is getting staler by the hour."

"We're waiting for someone," Derek says, and cuts his eyes away from Stiles, which is very, very worrying.

"Who?" he demands, but a second after that he can smell who, and fuck Peter, Derek is definitely the one that he's going to kill for not warning him about this. "Hi Lydia."

"Hi Stiles," she quirks a half smile at him, as beautiful and unattainable as ever with Jackson's arm swung around her shoulders. Stiles switches his glare to Jackson, because he thought that they'd gotten over this, that Jackson at least liked him enough to respect that he can't be around Lydia right now, that even the thought of her is painful.

Jackson quickly cuts his eyes to Derek and back, and huh, Stile guesses he does understand. Faster than a human could move, Stiles is twisting to shove the heel of his palms under Derek's ribs, and now that he's not a human, it's with enough force that Derek stumbles and wheezes.

"Shit," Jackson says, and begins to laugh.

"Need to," Derek forces himself into an upright position with a wince, and for a moment Stiles feels just as too tight in his skin and as reckless as he did on his first day as a werewolf, "work on your - impulse control."

"My impulse control is fine," Stiles grows, "I didn't break anything, did I?" Derek doesn't say anything, which is answer enough. "Why is she here?" Lydia, thankfully, hasn't said anything yet, about his werewolf-ness or his attitude. She's just standing besides Jackson, still and silent, and that's disconcerting enough that he almost changes his mind and wishes she'd say something.

Derek swallows, visibly stealing himself against Stiles's ire, and even he knows that he's not intimidating, that's pathetic. Peter's snort in the background means he agrees with him, and it's really starting to annoy Stiles how often he and Peter are on the same page. "She can help you, if you let her."

"Help him do what?" Lydia says finally, arms crossed across her chest. She's not looking at Stiles, and that hurts, for some reason, which is stupid, it's so stupid, he's spent his whole life since he was eight not being looked at by Lydia Martin, it shouldn't matter.

Derek's eyes are focused on the redhead as he explains, "Stiles has a problem controlling his heightened senses, but excellent control over the shift, so we're going to see if we can get Stiles to focus enough on Isaac's scent to track it."

"Okay, cool. Why am I here?" she glares, flipping her hair. In spite of everything, Stiles has to grin.

Derek sighs, "I want you to help focus Stiles, to direct him, okay?"

Lydia doesn't answer him, instead for the first time she looks at Stiles. The new werewolf freezes under her gaze, and he stands very still as she ducks from underneath Jackson's arm to stand in front of him. Her eyes flicker quickly over his body, marking all the changes the lycanthropy has brought, and Stiles wants to transform back, to go back to being the goofy kid who followed her around instead of this monster that he's looking at now.

She takes one his clawed hands and places it on her hip, and Stiles throws Jackson a frantic glance, because he hasn't tested his new werewolf strength against the members of the pack, and he doesn't want to start now. Jackson shrugs, and well, fair, it's not like he has to worry about Lydia straying when the power of her love literally brought him back to life.

Stiles is pulled back from his own thoughts when Lydia places his other hand on her hip, and keeps both of them pressed against her with her hands - her small, soft, frail human hands. With Lydia beneath his claws, he's suddenly terrified he'll break her. "Hey," she says, soft, and Stiles's eyes snap to her own, and he blushes looking at her, and he couldn't say why. It doesn't hurt holding her though, not like he thought it would, she just feels warm and safe and like the little girl he fell in love with in third grade.

"Oh," he breathes, eyes wide, because nothing could stop him from loving Lydia, but he guesses the way that he's loved her has changed. He tilts his head down so his forehead is pressed against hers, and she feels stronger suddenly, beneath him. He breathes in her scent of strawberries and vanilla, and thinks of his mother, of the way that she was both soft and strong. "I didn't know - did you know?" He's not sure what he's asking, if Lydia had known that he wasn't in love with her anymore, or if he's asking if she'd always known this is where they'd end up, with the both of them risking everything for the people they loved and loving each other without actually being in love with each other.

"I knew," Jackson says smugly, and both Lydia and Stiles roll their eyes at the same time.

"I didn't know," Lydia admits, tilting just enough to press a kiss against Stiles's cheek.

"As touching as all of this is," Peter drawls, "if we could maybe get on with it?"

Stiles grins as the full force of Lydia's glare falls on Peter and he mutters, "Bitch, bitch, bitch." He steps backwards, pulling Lydia along by her hips, until Derek's pressed up against his back and Lydia's curled against his front. It's then that he closes his eyes, allows these two people to calm and heighten his senses both, and tries not to think too hard about what else they might have in common for him.

Of course, the tragedy of his love life is soon forgotten when he opens his eyes and snarls, "I've got him," and abandons them both to run through the forest to where he's sure Isaac is.

 

Two weeks later it's Stiles crawling into Derek's bed and curling around his back. "How are they?" he asks, soft, as if doesn't see them himself nearly every day. Derek twists around to face him, curling closer until it's impossible to deny that they're basically cuddling, lying there in each other's arms.

Derek's skin is pale with exhaustion and his eyes nearly cavernous, but his smile is easy and he's radiating contentment for the first time that Stiles can remember in - ever, really. "Better," he says, quiet, and it's always the same answer, but the answer is always true, so there's that. "Boyd is completely healed. Erica is still having small seizures, but we're working on it."

Stiles winces and huddles a little closer to Derek, because he knows that means that he and Isaac are breaking nearly every bone in Erica's body, again and again, until her healing can force out the last of what the alpha's did to her and focus on keeping her on her equilibrium. "I'm sure she's so happy about that," he murmurs, because an Erica that doesn't feel in control is an angry Erica, which frankly is just terrifying.

"Thrilled," Derek says, dry, and his breath is starting to even out into sleep.

Derek smells like cedar wood and worry, constantly, and he's the only person Stiles has met that always, without fail, smells of the same emotion. His eyes are closed now, and the smooth angles and curves of his face are unbearably beautiful to Stiles right now, and even now he smells of worry, of concern for his pack and his people and whatever is coming next in this coming storm, and Stiles can't keep doing this, he's going to go insane.

So he shifts, ever so slowly and carefully, and presses his lips the other man's pulse point. Derek's wide awake instantly, but he doesn't move, he doesn't breathe, and Stiles smiles against his skin. He presses their bodies flush together, and if at any point Derek decides he doesn't like what Stiles is doing, he has more than enough strength to toss him across the room.

Stiles drags his lips across Derek's stubble to across his cheeks, goes close to lips, and backs away. The older man actually whimpers at that, and Stiles huffs a laugh and finally, _finally_ , presses their lips together, and it feels like he's been waiting all of his life for this moment.

He leans back and Derek's eyes are blown wide and his cheeks are flushed, and for just a moment he doesn't smell of worry. "Hey Derek," Stiles whispers, pressing another two quick kisses between his words.

"Yeah?" he says, and shit, he never expected anyone to ever look at him like that before, like he's the best prize at the carnival, or the prettiest girl at school (does Lydia feel like this all the time?) and so has to interrupt himself to kiss Derek once more.

"I think I could do worse than you too," he admits, and there's a moment of silence before Derek makes their weirdest sound between a laugh and a growl, and what do you know, that sound makes Stiles want to kiss him more, so he does.

Somehow, he suspects a lot of things that Derek does are going to lead to kissing in the future.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to follow/harass me at: shanastoryteller.tumblr.com


End file.
